“…Now this is good art. You can see what the fuck the picture is about” he huffs.
“The political themes in the abstract work are interesting though” I venture.
“Sure. Politics. Well that’s another thing. I almost got shut down twice in the last few months. I hung some work that someone didn’t like, and the next thing I know, the army show up here…”

There are quite a few long term residents here at Giant Guesthouse.
One person I’ve made particular friends with is Valerie.
Valerie is a motherly French lady, with a self deprecating sense of humour. We have spent numerous afternoons chatting and smoking and drinking coffee, and giggling at muted Thai soap operas on TV.

(Top photo: Anna at Sangdee Gallery jam night.)

I mention to Valerie that I have a date tonight to jam with Anna.
“The girl you met at Riva Bar?” she asks.
“Yeah. Do you know it?”
“I have not been inside, but I often ride past on my bicycle. I think I know who Anna is. She has short hair, and she is a very small person, oui?”
I laugh.
“She isn’t tall.”
“Yes! I often ride past when she is singing. Sometimes she wave at me. She has a beautiful voice!”
“Her face isn’t bad either” I say.
“Oh! You are in love, I think.”
“Well, I wouldn’t go that far. She’s very cute though. She invited me to jam with her tonight at some gallery that has live music.”

(Below: my guesthouse, Giant, is full of cool folk art made by the managers.)

I head up to Riva Bar about nine. It’s on the moat road, only about five minutes from my guest house.
Anna is half way through her set. She smiles broadly when she sees me, and waves me over to the stage.
We play together until the end of her slot at ten thirty.
We walk up the block about a hundred metres to a small, brightly lit cafe, and order fried rice and seafood salad.
Anna quizzes me about my travels in Europe. I ask her about her musical life. She tells me she started singing in church, a few years ago, and now it is her entire income. She sings six nights a week, as well as a daytime gig at the plush Four Seasons Hotel.
When Anna talks about music her eyes light up so brightly they almost twinkle. Her quirky smile wrinkles her tiny nose and makes dimples in her cheeks.
She tells me she has decided to be rich and famous.
“I am only twenty six. I have started a whole new life. Singing makes me so happy. I never want to do anything else. I have been on ‘The Voice‘, you know? The singing competition. When I was on TV, I thought, ‘yes. This is my future.’ It is not that I need a lot of money to be happy. I grew up poor. But I want my voice to be heard by a lot of people. My father is an artist, and he has always struggled, but he is passionate about his work.”
I ask her how she can speak such great English. She giggles.
“I learned so many English words from songs. But also, I spent two years living in Australia. Actually, when I arrived in Australia, I thought I could understand English, but you Australians speak so strangely. At first I thought it was a different dialect.”
“It’s almost a different language” I agree.
“I can understand you easily though.”
“Well, I have travelled a bit, and I have a traveller voice I use. Sort of, slower, clearer, more precise English than what I speak with other Australians. Your English is very, very good though.”
“Thank you” she says, smiling. “I also speak chinese a bit and French. I like to learn new languages.”

(Below: “good art” at Sangdee Gallery)

After we eat, we get in Anna’s beat up old Datsun Sunny, and head across town to the gallery.
Sangdee Gallery is a small, tastefully decorated building in a quiet side street. The band area is centred around a baby grand piano on the ground floor. The white rooms are hung with an ecclectic assortment of contemporary works.
We join the musicians on the stage. Anna introduces me to her friends, and I introduce myself to the other farangs. Anna does a beautiful version of Katy Perry’s ‘Hot and Cold’ and I supply some cute little fills and trills.

We grab some drinks from the conveniently located bar on the patio, and sit down to chat with Anna’s friends. Most of them speak very little English, so the conversation is mainly in Thai, but Anna keeps me involved in the conversation by giving me running translations of the main thread of the chat.

(Above: every art gallery should have a bar!)
(Below: Rob and Curtis playing at Sangdee.)

The other two farangs take the stage. Curtis and Rob are clean cut young Americans. They kick off with a nice blue version of ‘Heart of Gold’, and my feet carry me up to the stage without bidding. I love Neil Young. It’s irresistable jam music. The three of us have a blast riffing on the chorus.
We drag Anna back to the mic to sing ‘Knocking on Heaven’s Door.’ Curtis’ and Rob’s pretty melodic guitar, Anna’s sensual voice, plus my raucous, Dylan-style harp equals a high energy jam. Anna even gets out her tin kazoo, and plays with me on the bridge. We get enthusiastic applause from the punters on the patio.

(Below: Anna jamming at Sangdee. She plays a mean kazoo!)

(Above: ruined walls…)

The gallery owner who, by his own admission, likes a drink or nine, shows us around his place.
“This is not art” he grumbles, gesturing dismissively at a wall of graffiti inspired collage work. “These kids, they come from middle class families, go to art school for three years, and this is what they produce: this… this random… crap. And look: they ruined my walls!”
“You mean the mural..?”
“Mural? That is a nice way to put it. Do you know how difficult it is to paint over black paint with white paint, my friend? It is murder!”
He steers us toward a set of figurative paintings of women on an adjacent wall.
“Now this is good art. You can see what the fuck the picture is about” he huffs.
“The political themes in the abstract work are interesting though” I venture.
“Sure. Politics. Well that’s another thing. I almost got shut down twice in the last few months. I hung some work that someone didn’t like, and the next thing I know, the army show up here. They told me very clearly that if I didn’t take down the offending paintings the gallery would be closed. That is the temper of the times. We have no government in Thailand now, but we have plenty of authority. Same thing happened again two weeks ago. Someone wanted to screen ‘1984’ – the Orwell film – here at the gallery. I hadn’t even said yes yet, but I got a call out of the blue: ‘No. You cannot screen that film. It is offensive.’ What am I going to do. I don’t give a fuck about politics. I am an art dealer, a businessman. I’ll take the money if people want offensive art. I am just supplying what the market demands.”
We walk past a large canvas depicting a helicopter gunship.
“Very nice this one. Offensive, and nicely painted as well” our host comments. “Should be worth a few dollars in ten years.”

(Below: sound investments?)

Curtis and I have a drink together and chat about Chiang Mai and music. He has lived in Thailand more than four years. He teaches full time at the university, but music is his passion. He invites me to join him and his band at their regular gig on Saturday night. I accept enthusiastically.

Anna and I say our goodbyes at about midnight.
“Goodnight!” calls our host, raising his glass unsteadily. “You make a cute couple.”
Anna and I glance at each other awkwardly.
“No, no. We are friends” Anna corrects him.
“Well then; goodnight friends. Goodnight!”

(Below: Anna and me chilling at Sangdee.)

Anna and I stroll down the laneway to her car just after midnight.
“Thank you for a lovely night” she says. “I will drive you back to your guesthouse now, OK? I have to have an early night because I will work in the daytime at Four Seasons tomorrow.”
We walk in silence for a minute. Chiang Mai is very quiet after midnight. The night sounds are cats calling to each other and the soft burble of Thai TV dialogue from open windows.
Anna starts to sing her favourite Fergie song, her high, clear voice filling the darkness like soft light.
“…Yes, you can hold my hand if you want to… cause I want to hold yours too…”
No warm blooded man could miss a cue like that. I take her hand and we walk together to her Datsun, arm in arm.

She pulls up outside my guesthouse. I thank her for such a fantastic night of fun.
“I had a wonderful time too” she says, smiling her dimpled smile.
There is a pause as I pick up my bag and unfasten my seatbelt. I turn toward her and our eyes meet. In the warm street light, she looks like a little girl but her eyes are alive with something sophisticated and mysterious.
I lean toward her slowly. Anna moves away from me and her womanly composure disappears, replaced by wide-eyed surprise.
I stop, my face inches from hers.
“Is it OK if I kiss you?” I ask her in a near whisper.
She doesn’t respond, but I see her eyes take in my face.
I kiss Anna’s mouth, tenderly.
We kiss for a few seconds. I stroke her hair and face with my hand. Her body leans toward me. When our faces part, her eyes are warm and smiling.
“Sweet dreams” I say.
“You too…” she whispers.
She squeezes my hand and I climb out of the car.
She waves to me as she drives away, and I watch her go until the Datsun’s tail lights flicker out of sight round the corner of the Soi.

I sleep heavily and dream jazz riffs.

 
BTW:
Giant Guesthouse is a fun place to stay. It’s one of the cheapest backpacker places in Chiang Mai, too. The managers, Joe and Pang, are cool people – kind of Thai hippies. There is a semi-outdoor communal kitchen, a garden area, free internet, free drinking water, and a share-house atmosphere.
Pang and her friend Anita are folk artists, and they decorate the guesthouse with new creations all the time.
I’m in a private room with a double bed and a fan, for THB 150.00 per night. There are dormitory beds around the corner going for THB 160.00 !
If you go looking for Giant Guesthouse, be aware that there is also a Giant-2 Guesthouse, on the other side of town. It can be very confusing when you are trying to give directions to tuk tuk drivers.

(Below: Giant Guesthouse. Is this randomness, or subversive collage..? You can never be quite sure in Thailand, at the moment.)

 

 
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